


Born to Take Care of You

by loverboyy



Category: Queen (Band)
Genre: Basically just self indulgence, Fluff, M/M, Smut at the end if you squint, i wrote this in 1st pov so idk how to tag that but yuh?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-04
Updated: 2019-01-04
Packaged: 2019-10-03 11:17:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17283029
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loverboyy/pseuds/loverboyy
Summary: Christopher meets Freddie at their local gay bar, and it's love at first sight.Disclaimer: You can read this as irl Freddie or Borhap Freddie or whatever version of Freddie makes you comfortable. This isn't supposed to be taken super seriously. Just enjoy reading it however you want :^)





	Born to Take Care of You

**Author's Note:**

> This is basically self indulgence and fantasy. There will be more plot as the story continues, but this chapter is just to get a feel for writing.

November, 1982. The days bled together in substance-fueled mania. I was in and out of sleazy gay bars across the skid marks of London, looking for temporary happiness in any bottle I could find. My prosperous career as a minimum-wage bartender had come to a screeching halt as my hangovers overlapped work hours, and my boss was less than impressed by my work ethic. This simply freed more time to waste talking up dead-end hookups in miserable pubs. Getting shitfaced every night, sleeping until 2 in the afternoon, and spending rent money on taxi cabs to the club was my new employment.

As money began dwindling, I had to make ends meet by cutting corners. No, this did not mean cutting down on nightly outings, it simply meant less alcohol. Fortunately, this allowed for more sober one night stands and more clear conversations. Everything came to a head on a miserably cold night in early December. My savings were in the double digits, and paying rent on time was a lost cause. I vowed to myself that this outing would be my last until I could hold down a stable job.

I took the cab to my favorite spot, The Cherry, and took a silent oath not to order any drinks. I would just try to evoke genuine conversation with down-to-earth men and see where it goes. That hardly lasted a second; before I knew it, I was sitting alone, wasted on cheap vodka. As I was trying to build the stability to hobble over to the dance floor and court an equally-drunk gentleman, someone sat on the stool next to me.

I was too out of it to process his presence, so it took a "Hello dear" on his part to wake my mind up. I awkwardly turned to face him, almost tipping my seat over.

I tried to respond, "Hello, what's your name", but it seemed to come out as a jumbled mess. Thankfully, the stranger understood enough to introduce himself.

"I'm Freddie. You?" Instantly, his flamboyancy and excessive hand gestures caught my blurry eye. He didn't seem like any other bloke here. At a second glance, his face was stunning as well. His eyes were intoxicating. His teeth were prominent to say the least, but they complimented the rest of his face. His mustache was absolutely breathtaking: such a masculine feature on such a flamboyant man was- "hello?? Darling, keep up!" he jokingly exclaimed.

"O-Oh, sorry, my name is Christopher."

"That suits you, darling! So what brings you here? You're too handsome to be wasted in a rundown gay bar on a Goddamn Friday night."

"T-Thank you I guess, I'm just here for fun. I like the scene."

"Really? It doesn't seem like your type. You can stay here if you'd like, but my place is much nicer."

"That'd be good."

Freddie offered to get a cab, and I slowly processed what was happening. Somehow in the span of less than ten minutes, my drunken stupor had attracted a gorgeous stranger who was going to give me a nice place to sleep. I slammed one more shot and caught up to him. The dull city lights of a dark London made Freddie look even more stellar. His eyes sparkled as we made pleasant small talk, waiting for the taxi.

"So what do you do to stay afloat, Chris?"

"Well, I actually used to be a bartender. That didn't work out, now i'm kind of just focusing on myself and indulging in the whole party scene. How bout you, Freddie?"

"Nothing much, I spend most of my time with my band or in a club."

"Oh, you're in a band?"

"Yeah, I sort of sing a little bit on the side. I'm not great, but I try my best."

"Any songs that I would recognize?"

"I doubt it. we're pretty niche at the moment. "

"Give me the name of one of your songs. I don't listen to a lot of music, but there's an off chance I'll recognize something."

"Well one of our most popular songs at the moment is called 'Somebody To Love'".

I was too drunk at the moment to recognize the song. I had probably heard it dozens of times by then, but it completely slipped my mind.

"Nah, never heard it." Freddie looked relieved.

By then, the taxi was in front of us. We stepped in and continued the conversation. "So you're in a band... what's the name?"

He appeared eager to change the topic. He even seemed slightly uncomfortable with the subject. His eyes shifted to the side, and he suddenly started fidgeting. "Oh, it's called 'Queen', but we're pretty small." That kind of rung a bell.

"No way, really? I listen to a lot of your stuff." That was pretty much a lie; I had only heard Somebody To Love at the time, and heard "Queen" mentioned on the radio every once in a while.

"Oh, that's wonderful! Small world, darling. Ya know, we actually just got back from touring."

"Really? That's crazy!"

"Yeah, we hit a few places across the world."

"Across the world!? That's wild. You must be somewhat big to have that kind of reach!" My fogginess seemed to wear off for a moment as I became enthralled in the conversation.

"I mean we have a few popular songs and we're kind of successful, but I'm not in the mood to discuss myself. I want to hear about you. what are some of your hobbies?"

Come to think of it , I actually didn't have many hobbies at the time. Not unless you consider getting blackout drunk and checking out drunkards at the bar every night a hobby. I suddenly became insecure; this handsome, fascinating, talented man who sings for a successful band had offered to take me back to his hotel room, yet I was nothing more than a mediocre, unemployed slob. I had a few seconds to bullshit a hobby, so I said the first thing that came to my head. "I like to paint." Shit. that was a lie. I had never even picked up a paintbrush.

"Oh really? What's your style, what're your subjects?"

"I -umm- I like to paint... cats."

"No way, dear! I adore cats. Maybe someday I could commission you! I have two wonderful cats named Tiffany and Oscar and I would love a painting of them."

"Uh-huh, yeah! Will do." Thankfully, the conversation was cut off by the cab pulling in front of the hotel. I made a feeble attempt to fumble with the door handle, but Freddie was already there to open it for me. I stumbled out of the car and almost fell on top of him. I hobbled by his side into the building, and up the elevator.

When we stepped through the door of the room, I was taken aback. It was not just another hotel room, it looked like the president suite. The living room seemed huge, and the bedroom was magnificent. I hardly got a "wow" in before I was being shaken awake the next morning.

"What time is it," I groaned, suffering from and an agonizing headache.

"Wakey wakey, darling, it's almost noon!"

I opened my eyes to see the same handsome man I had met at the bar last night. I hardly remembered his face, much less anything that had gone down. "What happened last night?"

"Nothing much really. I met you in the scummy bar down the street, talked you up, and just let you crash here. I almost tried something, but you were completely out of it before I could even make a move. " I rubbed my my face in a feeble attempt to stop the headache. "So, dear you want to get brunch?"

"Does it look like i want to get fucking brunch? Please let my me sleep for just a little longer..."

"I'm sorry, darling, but I have to be in the studio by 2, and we both need to eat. I can just call something up to the room if you'd like?"

"Fine, I guess I'll have waffles." The thought of food made me ill, but I would do anything for him to shut up and leave me alone.

"Sure love, I'll order that right away." Freddie spent just a minute on the phone with room service, and the food was at the door even quicker. This gave me no time to rest, and I was miserable.

He somehow managed to drag me into the living room, where we quietly watched telly. I hardly touched my food, but he scarfed his down. He had a slender figure, and I was surprised by how many pancakes he was able to shovel in. A couple shitty daytime talk show episodes later, Freddie jumped up and ran to the bedroom.

"I'm gonna be late, darling! I lost track of time, it's almost 1:45! I have to go, dear, you can stay here while I'm gone if you'd like." He tossed a jacket over his pajama shirt and told me he'd be back by dinner. 

This was perfect. I practically leaped into bed as I heard the door shut and fell asleep before my head hit the pillow. I woke up to darkness and looked at the clock by the bed.  _What the hell,_ I thought,  _it's 6:30 and he said he'd be back for dinner. Should I be worried?_ As soon as I had the thought, I heard the door to the suite open. There were footsteps around the apartment, then the bedroom door swung open. 

"Sleep well, darling? How long did you nap?"

"I just woke up," I mumbled.

"Jesus, sleepyhead, that's almost five hours! You have got to be starving. You wanna order room service? You can get anything you'd like."

"Sure, yeah, that'd be great."

I stretched, got out of the bed, and hugged him fondly. I'm not sure why, but I felt safe with Freddie. Safer than I had felt in a while. He returned the hug, enveloping me in warmth for a few perfect moments. He let go, smiled, and asked what I wanted for dinner as we walked into the living room. 

In a few minutes, he had a steak sitting in front of him and I had a large platter of chicken tenders. We ate at the dining room table and enjoyed each other's presence.

"So you like to paint, darling?"

"Yeah... uh.. actually I kind of made that up on the spot. I don't think I've ever touched a paintbrush, in fact."

He chuckled and replied, "It's a good thing you're handsome, dear. What do you actually do?"

"Oh, I can mix a pretty mean cocktail. That's the only perk to spending three years in an underpaid bartending job. That's about it, honestly, other than spending my time at the club."

"I see. I could get some alcohol brought to the room, and you could show me your craft if you want?"

"That would be splendid."

We had some drinks delivered, and I mixed some decent daiquiris. Pretty soon, we were laying on the couch drunkenly rambling about whatever we could think of. 

"Personally, bitch, the fluffier the better," he managed to say.

"Cats are better when their hair is short. More compact."

This made him burst into laughing, and he basically laid on top of me in a half-assed attempt at a hug. He began kissing my jaw and neck, as his mustache tickled my face.

One thing lead to another, and soon we were in the bedroom. Laying next to him, in a state of satisfaction and exhaustion, I had never felt so incredible. In one day, I had met an extraordinarily perfect partner at the bar, gone home with him, spent a fantastic day lounging around his luxury hotel room, and now I was cuddling him in post-coital ecstasy. My entire world seemed to be suspended in serenity. He pat my hair as I drifted to sleep, surrounded in warmth. It felt like I was born to love him.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading uwu :') Sorry if there are any inaccuracies, I didn't do a whole lot of research into specifics.  
> Drop a kudos if you want hehe and uhh have a good day and I will post more as soon as I can :)


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